


Love is a Contact Sport

by Tirsh



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-17 22:38:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11278215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tirsh/pseuds/Tirsh
Summary: “Oh my lord. Dude, you can’t believe everything you read on Wikipedia.”





	Love is a Contact Sport

**Author's Note:**

> This was written in flagrant violation of Riveroad's 'no rookies' rule but in my own defense I resisted the irresistible Mitch Marner for as long as I could. Bygones.

Auston is chilling on the couch deeply absorbed in something on his phone when Mitch rolls over the back of the couch flopping into his space, putting his head in Auston’s lap.  “Know what I’m thinking?”

“Almost never,” he replies without looking up from the screen. 

“I’m thinking you should make me a smoothie.”  

“Make your own smoothie.” 

“But it’s your kitchen.”  

“So?”  

“So you’re the host. The host with the most,” he says exaggerating the ts. 

Auston rolls his eyes but Mitch is undaunted.  “That one that you make with all the berries and the nanas.”

“You’re a child.” 

“What’s your point?” Mitch asks, grinning widely as he reaches for Auston’s free hand and plunks it on his own head.

“Hey listen,” Auston starts, as he picks up the hint and absently cards his fingers through Mitch’s hair. “Do you really think you should be playing right now?”  

“I’m not playing right now. I’m waitin’ for my smoothie. Tick tock by the way,” he jokes tapping his wrist playfully.  

“Mitch, I’m serious.  It says here you should avoid any strenuous activity. Especially contact sports.”  

“Oh my lord. Dude, you can’t believe everything you read on Wikipedia.” He’s already gone twelve rounds on this subject with his mom.  

“It’s not  _ just _ Wikipedia.” Auston says defensively. “It’s on WedMd too.”  

“Oh. WebMd. The hypochondriac’s best friend.” 

“Marns - “

“No seriously. It’s true. Stay on there long enough, you’ll be totally convinced you’re dying of something.” 

“The Mayo Clinic site says your spleen is fragile.”

“Well then it’s a good thing I have cat-like reflexes and nobody can catch me. Cat-like. Like a cat!”  

“Yeah?" Auston scoffs. "How’s that shoulder?”   

It’s Mitch’s turn to roll his eyes. “That was a slight miscalculation. Do I need to put your phone in a time out?”  

“I’m just saying I don’t think Mono is something you should screw around with.” 

“Ain’t that the fucking truth,” he grumbles. 

“I didn’t mean it like that. I just - “ 

“Look Matts,” Mitch sits up and turns around with an exasperated sigh. “I know you’re worried and I’m super touched that you pulled out your google-fu and everything. But I’m fine. My spleen is not enlarged. It’s not going to rupture. I did all the tests and I was cleared to play. I have a long list of things from the doctor - the actual doctor, not the internet doctor - to watch out for and be careful of. I’m taking lots of naps and doing all the things. And it’s the playoffs and the Caps suck and I’m not missing a minute of it unless I absolutely have to.”

Auston is not entirely convinced. Joe Thornton was also cleared to play. These words are nebulous at best in the NHL, especially during the playoffs.  

“Trust me?” 

“With your own well-being? Not actually.” 

“I’m like a thousand percent sure you would do the same thing.” 

“That’s not even a thing. Math is not your friend.” 

“Would it make you feel better if I let you feel my glands?” Mitch asks, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.  

Auston groans.“Don’t ever say that to me that again.” 

Mitch just shrugs. “Whatever, your loss.” He waits a beat before saying, “I do kind of have a sore throat though. Know what would help me out here?”  

“Can’t think of a single thing,” Auston says grinning indulgently. He’s pretty sure there’s a trip to the kitchen in his immediate future.  

“I’ll give you a hint.  It starts with ‘s’ and end with ‘moothie’ and it’s packed with all sorts of immune building antioxidant goodness.” 

“Fine.” Auston tosses his phone on the end table and pushes up off the couch.  

“And don’t forget the nanas,” he calls out to his retreating back.  

“Yeah, yeah. I’ve got your bananas right here, you brat,” Auston mumbles fondly to himself. 

He’s only in the kitchen for a minute before Mitch sidles up behind him, wrapping his arms around his waist and tucking his chin over his shoulder. “Hey? Is CoD considered a contact sport if I kick your ass?”  


End file.
